Ho! Ho! Ho! The 9th Annual Holiday Contest Is HERE!!!

THE9THANNUALHOLIDAYCONTEST!!!

~forchildren’swriters~

The Contest: Write a children’s holiday story (children here defined as age 12 and under) about A Holiday TREAT!

Your treat can be any kind of treat – a delectable holiday food specialty – Grandma’s Sugar Cookie Reindeer, or the Brown Family Gingerbread House; an event or experience that is a treat – the town Holiday Parade, attending the Nutcracker Ballet, or getting to light a candle on the menorah; making a treat for someone else – baking peppermint crunch brownies for the residents of a local shelter, or doing something special for a favorite teacher or neighbor – sky’s the limit 🙂

Your story may be poetry or prose, silly or serious or sweet, religious or not, based on Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or whatever you celebrate, but is not to exceed 250 words (I know! So much freedom after the Halloweensie Contest 🙂 ) (It can be as short as you like (the judges will be grateful 🙂 , you are welcome and encouraged to write shorter, but no more than 250! Title not included in word count.) The field is wide open! Have fun! The more creative the better! No illustration notes please. (And yes, if you feel compelled to submit more than one entry you may, just remember you’re competing against yourself!)

Post: Your entry should be posted on your blog between right now this very second and Wednesday December 11 at 11:59 PM EST, and your post-specific link should be added to the link list below. This post will remain up for your reading pleasure until I post the finalists. There will be no regular posts (Tuesday Debuts, Perfect Picture Book, or Would You Read It) for the duration of the contest so the links will stay up for everyone to visit and enjoy. If you don’t have a blog and would like to enter, you can simply copy and paste your entry in the comments section below (please include your byline! If your posting handle is something like MamaWritesByNightlight I can’t identify you.) If you have difficulty posting in the comments, which unfortunately sometimes happens, you may email your entry to me at susanna[at]susannahill[dot]com and I’ll post it for you. Please place your entry in the body of the email including your title and byline at the top – NO ATTACHMENTS! Please do not submit entries before the start of the contest! Please submit your entry only ONCE! If you add it to the blog link list, and the comments, and email me to post it, things get very confusing! I try to stay as glued to my desk as possible, but sometimes I have to get up so if I don’t respond to your email or approve your post immediately, don’t panic! I’ll get to it as soon as I can!

The Judging: My lovely assistants and I will narrow down the entrants to approximately 10 finalists (depending on the number of entries – if we get a lower turnout we’ll post fewer finalists, a higher turnout possibly one or two more.) In the interest of finishing up the contest in a timely fashion so everyone can go about their holidays, we will do our best to post the finalists here by Monday December 16 for you to vote on for a winner. The vote will be closed on Wednesday December 18 at 5 PM EST. Whoever gets the most votes will be first and so on down to tenth place (or wherever we place to), and the winners will be announced on Thursday December 19.

Judging criteria will be as follows:

1. Kid-appeal! – These stories are intended for a young audience (ages 12 and under), so we’re looking for stories that children will enjoy and relate to.

2. Holiday Treat! – the rules state a Holiday Treat story, so it must be crystal clear that the story is about a treat of some kind that is specific to Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or whatever you celebrate. The story must center on the treat – the treat must not be just an offhand mention/reference in a story about something else.

3. Quality of story – entries must tell a story, including a main character of some kind and a true story arc even if it’s tiny 🙂 Entries must not be merely descriptions or mood pieces.

4. Quality of Writing: check your spelling, grammar, punctuation etc. If you’re going to rhyme, give us your best 🙂 Overall writing quality and use of language are also important.

5. Originality and creativity – because that is often what sets one story above another.

The Prizes!: OMG! So much awesomeness!!!

Picture Book Manuscript Critique from Children’s Literary AgentMelissa Richeson of Apokedak Literary!!! Melissa will read and give a written critique of your picture book manuscript plus a 10 minute phone call to talk!!!

MG/YA First 1500 Words Critique from Children’s Literary AgentMelissa Richeson of Apokedak Literary!!! Melissa will read and give a written critique of the first 1500 words of your MG or YA manuscript!!!

Literary Agent Melissa Richeson

Melissa is currently looking to build her client list and is focusing on children’s book authors—picture books through young adult. She’s drawn to witty wording and whimsical design for picture books, humor and quick pacing for chapter books, charming mysteries or magic in middle grade, and fresh, character-driven stories in young adult. She’s not the best fit for horror, high fantasy, or graphic violence of any kind

Art of Arc is an independent-study picture book writing course. Most stories have some sort of arc. Many successful picture books are built around an arc. Understanding story and character arcs will help give your story order and the tension that will energize it from the beginning to the end. This energy will not only drive your protagonist forward – it will also drive readers to turn pages and keep reading.

The purpose of this course is to deepen your understanding of picture books written with a classic arc and to introduce you to many other picture books structures. The course also addresses a number of common issues that weaken a story and common writing mistakes that authors make.

Please join me in thanking these very generous authors and other writing professionals for contributing their books and writing expertise as prizes by visiting their websites and blogs, considering their books and services for holiday or other gift purchases, rating and/or reviewing their books on GoodReads, Amazone, B&N, or anywhere else if you like them, and supporting them in any other way you can dream up! 😊

This is the part in the proceedings where I would normally post my sample to entertain and encourage you, but I’m afraid today, without burdening you with the details, my heart just can’t be in it. Bad timing, I’m sorry 😦

But I know you guys are going to come up with great stories, and I’m so looking forward to reading them all. I know they will lift my spirits! 😊

I can’t wait to read all of your entries! With so many great prizes up for grabs I hope there will be a lot – the more the merrier! And you’ve still got a couple days to write, so you can squeeze in under the wire if you haven’t written yet. Feel free to spread the word to your writing friends as well. And your reading friends – parents, teachers, etc. The more people who read and enjoy your stories, the better!!!

Contest Entrants, remember to add your post-specific link to the google form below so we can all come read your awesome stories! (Post-specific means not your main blog url, but the actual url of the post that has your story in it – otherwise if you post again before the contest ends, your link will take readers… and judges!… to the wrong place!)

Eager Readers – just go along the list of links, click on them, and enjoy the stories!

Happy Writing and Happy Holidays!!!🎄⭐️ ✡️❄️☃️🕎

And don’t miss the 77!!! fabulous entries that are posted in the comments below! The titles are linked and will take you directly to the stories!

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Grandpa Ted has a garden shed, but the door stays firmly closed,
Whenever I visit, I try to peek in, but he won’t even show Granny Rose.
Whatever it is Grandpa keeps inside, he will not let me see.
I beg to him: “pleeeeease let me in,” but he keeps it a mystery…
Maybe Grandpa’s a super hero, and it’s where he keeps his cape?
Then, when he thinks no-one’s looking, he quickly makes his escape…
Maybe Grandpa’s a time-traveler, and his shed is a time machine?
Transporting him far in the future, the things he must have seen…
Maybe Grandpa’s a secret spy, and it’s where he keeps his tools?
Night vision goggles, invisible ink – now, that would be really cool…
Maybe Grandpa’s an astronaut, and his shed is a rocket ship?
Whenever he steps inside, he takes an intergalactic trip…
Then, one afternoon when I visit, Grandpa opens the shed door wide,
“Come in,” he says, “I’m finished. Let’s see what’s hidden inside.”
Grandpa has made me a playhouse, as a special Christmas treat!
“It’s filled with all my favourite things! Oh, Grandpa, you’re so sweet!
A train track with a wind-up train… a doll’s house with four floors…
Jigsaw puzzles… board games… and picture books galore!”
So now the mystery’s over, but something’s made me pause:
A suit so bright tucked out of sight… is Grandpa…

Elsie’s favorite thing about Christmas was decorating the Christmas tree. Every year on the first day of December, Elsie and her mom and dad would watch Christmas movies and make a popcorn garland to hang on the tree.

This year was extra special because it was Elsie’s little brother’s first Christmas!

When Elsie got home from school on December first, she ran into the kitchen. “Can we make the popcorn?” she asked her Momma.

“We can’t this year. Your brother is too little and he could choke on the popcorn. I’m sorry, Elsie” said Momma.

Elsie pouted by the window in her room. She watched the snowflakes fall. Then she saw it, a Christmas tree!

“Momma!” Elsie cried. “Come quick!”

Momma hurried into Elsie’s room.

“Can we put the popcorn garland on that tree?”

“What a great idea, Elsie!” said Momma.

During her brother’s nap, Momma and Elsie made the popcorn garland. When Daddy got home, he helped Elsie hang it on the tree outside.

When her brother woke up from his nap, Elsie showed him the tree through her window.

Birds flew all around the tree and landed on its branches to have a popcorn snack. Her brother laughed and clapped his hands.

Elsie’s family watched the birds until it was time for dinner. While they ate, they talked about the different birds they saw.

Now every year, on the first day of December, Elsie’s family makes two popcorn garlands. One for their tree, and one for the birds.

Cece was ready to explode!
Hanukkah starting.
Gramps arriving.
A great treat coming….
Her heart raced with anticipation.
Scrambling to the holiday box, Cece pulled out decorations.
Gramps loved Hanukkah too. He put ice cream on his latkes, sang “Oh Hanukkah” with
abandon, and hid gifts in the wildest places.
“What would you like for Hanukkah?” Gramps had asked Cece on the phone.
“A great treat!”
“Come again?” asked Gramps.
Cece sometimes had to say things twice for Gramps. She never minded.
“A great treat!” she repeated.
“Ah yes, “ said Gramps. “Perfect.”
Cece bounced from room to room, thinking about her great treat.
Would it be puffy stickers? New markers? A scooter?
She pulled out the menorah, imagining 8 great treats!
Then she rehearsed a “great treat” dance, including dreidel twirls.
Ooops. The gelt coins.
Cece picked the chocolates up and put most of them back in the bowl.
DING DONG!
Cece whizzed to the door.
Gramps gave the best hugs.
Cece led him to the living room and showed off her seasonal display. And her dance moves.
“Fabulous!” said Gramps.
“As requested, now it’s time to rest your feet!”
Cece looked at Gramps.
Rest your feet. Great treat.
Ahh!
Cece smiled.
“Care if I join you?” asked Gramps.
“Not at all,” Cece replied.
Then Grandpa and Cece plopped on the couch to enjoy their great treat. Together.

It’s the night before Christmas, the house is all quiet,
Mum and Dad are sound asleep… but wide awake is Violet.
She tiptoes down the creaky stairs, as silent as can be,
She peeks out of the window – are those snowflakes she can see?
The garden path it sparkles, where this afternoon she’d spread
Reindeer dust for Rudolph, so he knows just where to head.
Then Violet’s in the living room, all lit up by the tree,
Its fairy lights are shining bright, allowing her to see.
Her Christmas sack hangs by the fire, looking rather bare,
But Santa Claus will be here soon, with lots of gifts to share.
She sits down on the sofa, pulls a blanket to her lap,
In her hand is Mummy’s phone, all poised to take a snap.
But next thing, she is waking up, to morning light outside,
How dismayed poor Violet is, she really could have cried.
Then she sees her sack of gifts and cannot help but smile,
A picture book… a tea-set… and a cuddly crocodile!
The mince pies she had left out, are now nowhere to be seen,
Where they were is Mummy’s phone, with black soot on the screen.
She picks it up with wonder and her eyes light up with glee,
A photo of the man himself – a Santa Claus selfie!
His round red face and big white beard, fill the tiny frame,
It is the best treat ever, knowing Santa really came!

MOUNTAIN MAGIC
By Deb Buschman
“But Mom, what about skateboarding at the park?” asked Jake and Luke.
“Boys, you know we always take Christmas treats to the nursing home,” said Mom.
They trudged into the home and were met with “Merry Christmas” greetings. The boys handed out treats and skateboarded down the hall. Soon they were laughing and singing Christmas songs.
Until, they spied Mr. Miller, alone in his room.
“Hey, you want some treats?” asked Jake.
“NO!”
“Everyone likes treats.”
“Ummph,” Mr. Miller grumbled.
Then Luke noticed his pictures. “Wow, these are cool.”
“That’s my family, skiing in the mountains.”
“We’ve never seen mountains or snow. Where’s your family now?”
“Skiing without me, because I’m too old.”
“What’s it like to ski?”
Mr. Miller closed his eyes. “You fly down the mountain, sucking in ice cold air as your skis glide through the snow. It’s like magic. You’re free.”
Suddenly, his hand thumped his wheelchair. “Now, take your treats and leave me alone.”
Jake and Luke skateboarded away.
But they couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Miller and skiing.
At the park, Luke got an idea. Jake rounded up all their boarding buddies.
“We need snow, cold and mountains.”
After collecting their supplies, they set to work.
The boys went to get Mr. Miller. “We have a Christmas treat for you.”
“I don’t want your treats.”
They rolled him outside anyway. On top of the mountain they handed him goggles and poles.
“Hang on!”
WHOOOSH!
“Yahoo! Great treat! Let’s do it again,” shouted Mr. Miller.

Two little hands placed the treats on a dish.
“Santa will love all these cookies! Delish!”
“Bedtime, my darlings!” another voice called.
Click! went the door, and the treats stood… appalled.
Gingerbread whispered, “That elf has one goal:
To plunge us in milk and devour us whole!”
“This can’t be the end!” A Brownie protested.
Oatmeal sobbed, “We can’t be digested!”
Gingerbread lifted his round little hand.
“I think we’ll be safe if you heed my command.
First we have got to get off of this table.
We’ll need to be cushioned. Meringue, if you’re able…”
Meringue nodded grimly. She knew what to do.
Bravely, she stepped off the edge, out of view.
One at a time all the treats took a leap
Landing on Fluffy Meringue, in a heap.
“We made it!” they shouted. “Quick, to the door!”
But creaks on the roof made them silent once more.
“He’s coming!” they whispered. The cookies stayed put.
CRASH! There was Santa, all covered in soot!
He put out some toys and he yawned a great yawn.
That’s when he noticed…the cookies were gone!
The cookies all huddled. They trembled to hear:
“How did my scrumptious sweet treats disappear?”
He guzzled the milk. He emptied the cup,
stepped to the chimney and winking, flew up.
The cookies exhaled. “We’re out of harm’s way!
And Santa has left us a place we can stay!”
They climbed in the box. “A suite for us sweets!”
Imagine! That Santa! A treat for his treats.

The idea wasn’t inspired by his work but as I was writing it I was definitely thinking that there might be a Josh Funk vibe going on there. I was hoping it came across as original! Thanks for confirming both accounts! 🙂

Hello Priscilla…and welcome to Susanna’s Holiday Contest. I am soooo thrilled you are participating! And I love your counting story…it’s full of humor, great visuals, and I especially love the twist at the end! Well done!

I had guilty feelings reading your story because I’ve pulled the “one for you, one for me” decorating technique myself – Your counting story was fun to read, and I easily imagined some illustrations to go along with it.

Dear Children Everywhere,
This is an URGENT matter. Please read immediately! A candy criminal has escaped, and I need ALL HANDS ON DECK!

I was supposed to be watching him. But I took a break. I couldn’t resist the urge to decorate my gingerbread jailhouse for the holidays (Can you blame me?). That’s when it happened.

Sugar Hook picked the lock and bolted! Ever since then, he’s been posing as a sweet treat under the name “Candy Cane.” But don’t be fooled. He’s a thief who’s been plundering peppermint! He plans to replace toothpaste completely! But he’s full of sugar!
Now, he’s prancing around like a beloved symbol of Christmas. He’s wearing a red-and-white disguise to try and cover his black and white stripes! But his minty fresh scent gives him away.

We need to capture him ASAP before Santa finds out, or else he’ll never let me decorate for the holidays again! Here’s what you can do: pretend you LOVE candy canes. Decorate your tree with them. Hang them on your mantle. Put them in a bowl on your coffee table. INUNDATE YOUR HOUSE WITH THEM! Then, host a “gingerbread-house” decorating contest. After all “houses” are built, call my hotline, and I’ll race over. When Candy Cane is least expecting it, I’ll pop out and throw him (and all his clones) into the gingerbread jails.

Please, I’m begging you, help me find this fraud so we can keep candy sweet.

Applauses fill the classroom.
Brandy walks-in with goodies,
James displays his plates,
Jeffry carries some cookies,
Blakes parades his cakes.
Rose marches in with some kind of slippery-sloppery-crumbery-brownery-gooey stuff.

Giggles bounce around the room.

“What have we here?” asks the teacher.
“Pen Patat!” Rose proudly replies.
“Go on, start with your presentation.” adds the teacher.
“Gulp! I love “Pen Patat”. It represents some of the things I cherish about Haiti, where I was born.
During the End of Year Holiday Celebrations, the air fills up with the smell of sweet potatoes and cinnamon. Children behave better because they want a piece of this delightful pudding…”
The teacher gets distracted by a knock at the door.
“Are you going to eat that?” says Lynn
“Of course,” answers Rose, “it is delicious!”
“I saw you scooping it up from the floor this morning!” shouts Sophia.
“The floor was just cleaned.” replies Rose.
“Yuck!” screams Lynn with a wince.
Rose spoons some of the slippery-sloppery-crumbery-brownery-gooey stuff.
“I eat anything like Santa.” says Rose. She opens her mouth wide.
“Rose!” calls out the teacher, “do me a favor, come get your pudding.”
“You left it behind this morning. The bus driver just brought it in.”
“THANK YOU!” replies Rose with a sigh of relief.
I’m happy to do this favor for a much better flavor.

She’d had it with her parents’ rules like No licking walls and No chewing on door handles.

She drove her backhoe till she found the perfect spot.

She laid the gingerbread foundation.

She raised the gingerbread walls.

She frosted the corners, sealing everything in place.

Ginger started up her licorice ladder for roof work when Giovanni appeared.

“You’re building too close to my house!” he said.

Ginger said her house was just fine. Giovanni said it was too close to his. They shook and yelled so much they started to crumble.

When Ginger went to the Candy Cane Forest to cut down lumber, Giovanni roasted marshmallows on Ginger’s roof.

When Giovanni went to get food for his Christmas party, Ginger drew all over his house with chocolate sauce.

When Ginger went to put peppermints on the walkway, someone had eaten the whole bag, already.

When Giovanni’s Christmas party guests arrived, someone had sealed the door shut with icing.

One night, Ginger crept over to Giovanni’s house and ate every gumdrop from his windows. She had almost crept safely home when—BUMP! She ran smack into Giovanni. His mouth was full of gumdrops from her windows.

Ginger chewed. Giovanni chewed, too.

They giggled. They grabbed more gumdrops. They ate and laughed all night long.

The next morning, Ginger and Giovanni built walls joining their houses. As sprinkles snowed down, they wrote out their one house rule: Taste anything, but build it back even tastier.

Earl lived in the pine tree overlooking the farmer’s house. And this Christmas, Earl aimed to do something big—really big. While the farmer’s wife was busy baking, he’d swipe a pie from the kitchen windowsill for his Christmas dinner.

Earl crept his way up to the window and peered inside. A fat basset hound began howling at him.

“No, Clyde!” hissed the farmer’s wife. “Out you go.”

This was his only chance, but Earl slipped on the sill and went tumbling to the ground. Splat! The pie landed right on his head.

“Grr!” Clyde howled again as Earl tore off through the cabbage beds.

“Stop!” yelled the farmer’s wife. Then everything went black.

Earl felt around frantically. He was inside a burlap sack. “Please, let me out!” he wailed.

The bag suddenly opened.

The farmer’s wife scooped Earl up and sat him on an old tree stump. She pulled a napkin from her overall bibs and placed it on the stump, too.

Earl couldn’t believe it. Inside was a piece of pecan pie!

The farmer’s wife chuckled, “If the good Lord shared his supper, I reckon it won’t hurt to share mine.”

Earl didn’t know what to say. After all the trouble he’d caused? Earl blinked up at her. He wished the farmer’s wife could understand him.

Sitting on Santa’s lap is a golden opportunity. No more writing letters or trusting elves. You get to talk to the big guy himself!

First timer?

Don’t worry. I’m an expert. I’ve been doing this for 5 years…in a row!

Here’s what you need to know:

Rule #1: No squirming!
No matter how much his beard tickles. No matter how bad you have to tinkle. Sit. Still. If Santa’s worried about dropping you, he might forget which toy you want for Christmas.

Rule #2: No spilling!
We all love a good sippy cup. But the best way to ruin your chances of getting the toy of your dreams is getting a chocolate milk stain on Santa’s red suit. Don’t risk it.

Rule #3: No sneezing!
The poor guy deals with enough germs as it is! He will not appreciate baby boogers in his beard!

Rule #4: No snoozing!
We’ve all been waiting in this line longer than it takes Dad to change a diaper. I know it’s past nap time, but stay strong! If you fall asleep before it’s your turn, you’ll miss your chance to tell Santa how good you’ve been this year!

And the most important rule of all, Rule #5…..

Wait…

You’re not ready!

“W-w-waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Rule #5 was…No SCREAMING!

Huh…look at that. Did he just give her…a toy? And a candy cane? BEFORE Christmas?

Góðan daginn! Hello from New Iceland!
Amma and I are making vinarterta for Þorláksmessa, Saint Thorlak’s Day, and Christmas.
We cream sparkling sugar into fluffy butter and sprinkle in spicy cardamom for warmth.

Crack! Each egg yields a yolk as precious as the winter sun,
which shines for only a few hours each day
in Manitoba
and Iceland.

Whoosh! Flour sifts into the bowl
like the drifts of snow
in Manitoba
and Iceland.

We roll the dough into seven pans and bake them in the oven.
Why seven?
Wait and see.

We hum “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” as the dried plums bubble into glossy jam.
Amma lifts the pans from the oven, two by two, and then the last, odd one out.
“Are we Icelandic or Canadian?” I ask.
“Já,” says Amma.
“Yes?”
Amma smiles, her blue eyes twinkling, and squeezes my fingers in her warm palm. “Two hands, one heart.”

I spoon the plum filling on top of each layer.
It flows like lava over the warm cake.
We stack the seven layers,
pressing them paper-thin,
making stripes of fire and ice,
as red and white as the Canadian flag,
or the red and white cross of the Icelandic flag.

We slather the cake in icing and wrap it like a present.
Gleðileg jól! Merry Christmas!
Takk! Thank you for coming.
We hope you enjoy our vinarterta.
But you must wait a week before you eat it,
letting the seven layers soften
over seven long short days.

A long time ago I lived in a land of Ladies and Gentlemen. Gentlemen wore ties and hats. Ladies wore gloves and carried handkerchiefs.
The year I was six, I had my own purse with my own money in it. I had been helping around the house. I washed dishes, and I swept the kitchen.
One day in December I waited for Grandpa to come home from work so that we could walk to town.
He held my hand as we looked around the variety store.
“What are you looking for Anna?” Grandpa asked.
“A present for Grandma,” I said.
“Do you know what you want?” he asked.
I shook my head no.
We continued up and down the aisles. I stopped at the display of ladies’ handkerchiefs. Each one came in a pale blue box.
I opened each box and unfolded each handkerchief.
Finally, I found just the one. It was made of lace, with a little ribbon that ran around the hem, and a little bow in the corner.
I handed my purse full of pennies, and the box, and the unfolded handkerchief to the sales lady. She smiled at me. She refolded the handkerchief and put in the light blue box.
“This will be a special treat for someone,” she said to me.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s for my Grandma. It’s the first present I ever bought.”
Grandpa and I held hands as we walked home. We smiled all the way. I couldn’t wait for Christmas!

Fingers are dusty and chocolatey brown from breaking up all those chocolate bars.
Bup Bup Bup Bup
Unsweetened, Milk, German, Semisweet, and Dark Chocolate.
Momma says we must use them all to make it perfect.
Shiny big bowl
Strong red spatula
“How much marshmallow fluff can you get out of that jar?” Momma asks.
A pinch of salt and 2 spoons of vanilla
We pour cup after cup of sparkly white sugar into the big pot on the stove,
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh
POP goes the can of evaporated milk.
Stirring Stirring with the whisk until all the sugar melts into the hot milk.
Butter on a paper towel to coat the baking dish.
Rrrrrip, lay down the wax paper.
Now for the Magic… Momma pours the hot sweet milk into the bowl full of chocolate.
Sloop Gloop.
Round and round with the wooden spoon, everyone takes a turn, it’s a lot of work.
Slowly, stickily, all the chocolate melts and transforms into my very favorite Christmas treat.
Momma scrapes the confection into the baking dish.
Whack! The freezer door shuts.
We lick the strong red spatula, the wooden spoon and even the big shiny bowl.
Yum…. Fudge.

“Well, there’s got to be SOME way to make Mom stop being sad. And besides,” she said, “baking the buns is a holiday tradition.”

“I know…wait. What if we baked them for her? It might brighten her day,” I said. “And hey, that’s the point of St. Lucia’s Day – light during the darkest time of year.”

Ten minutes later, Freya had egg in her hair, and butter was smeared across my cheeks. After a mildly catastrophic milk incident and some confusion with the oven, I pulled out our slightly-burnt saffron buns.

Mom and Gran usually lit candles on St. Lucia’s Day. But since I couldn’t use a lighter, Freya and I grabbed flashlights from the emergency kit instead.

When we walked into her room with the flashlights and saffron buns, a smile pushed its way onto Mom’s face. Light shone across her hair and her clothes, spilling into all the places it could reach.

Megan O. Hoffman writes children’s books after bed, in the grocery line and sitting in her car at Target.

SANTA’S COOKIES
Cookie lay perfectly still on the plate.
She had done it, landed THE job, and tonight was the night.
She would be, Santa’s Cookie.
Cookie had heard stories of others who had been chosen.
But they were always gingerbread men or store-bought sugar cookies.
Not this time.
Cookie was just an average Break’n Bake cookie.
Icing spread thick over her by Marian,
Sprinkles added with a flourish by the tiny yet troublesome Peter.
Sure she was somewhat misshapen by tiny hands,
And Peter may have nibbled on her a bit,
But out of all the cookies the Mosleys made that morning,
they chose her.
Now she lay on the shiny plate perfectly still.
Waiting.
And then…
The smell of peppermint filled the room.
He was here!
Santa’s face appeared over the plate.
Cookie held her breath.
“Well, you are too special to eat!” He said with a wink and a smile.
Cookie felt the plate spin,
She heard jingle bells and the sounds of Christmas.
“Okay then, off of that plate and into the sleigh,
We have work to do new little elf.”
Cookie hopped up grabbed a stocking from Santa.
A new elf was born, and Cookie’s life would never be the same.
So whatever you do, don’t forget to leave cookies for Santa this Christmas Eve!
He needs all the help he can get.

I’m writing with a most urgent request—I need you to name me, Broccoli or Broc for short, the Number One Christmas Treat. My stinky friend Onion said there has never been an official “best” treat. Sure, Candy Cane and Gingerbread gave it a decent run, but they lack my nutritional-staying power. No parents willingly make them for dinner, but parents, grandparents, and everyone loves me.

I’m the perfect choice for the job. My lush green coloring blends perfectly with holiday decorations. I can be adorned like a Christmas tree, given in a vase like a flower, or blanketed in cheese for an extra special treat. I don’t stick to anything, stain clothes, or hurt teeth. And don’t even get me started on my health benefits.

I realize most kids don’t see me as a treat, but that’s a marketing problem. Once you name me the Number One Christmas Treat, everything will change. Kids will ask for me in their stockings instead of yucky sugary things like chocolate and cookies. Who knows, maybe they’ll even name you a national hero if you do this. Parents will no longer have to force kids to eat me—I’ll be known as my true self, a real holiday delight.

Hank always knew he was a little different.
While other dinosaurs ran naked through the forest, Hank sported an apron and whipped up muffins, cakes, and brownies faster than most dinosaurs could swallow a pterodactyl egg.
But the neighborhood dinosaurs teased Hank and squashed slugs into his pies and squished swamp slime into his cookies.
Hank fretted, but kept baking.
He even entered the Christmas Baking Contest.
On the morning of the contest judging, he skipped along with a freshly baked cake in his wagon.
But suddenly,
“Aaaahhhhhh Choo!”
“Your sneeze catapulted our cake into the swamp! Now our Christmas picnic party is ruined!” whined a neighborhood T-Rex to a sheepish stegosaurus.
Hank looked at the other dinosaurs, glanced at his cake, and stewed in a swirling stupor of thought.
He imagined winning the baking contest and feeling the blue ribbon being pinned to his apron.
But he knew this picnic would be a disaster without a special treat.
Maybe his Christmas cake could save the day.
He took a deep dino breath and said, “Special cake delivery for the Christmas picnic party!”
They gasped. Then they all cheered.
“Stay for our party Hank!””
Now Hank gasped.
“Really?”
“We promise we won’t ruin your cake,” said the T-Rex “we’ll just eat it!”
Everyone licked frosting, gobbled the gooey chocolate center, and grunted with delight.
And even though Hank didn’t win the blue ribbon at the contest, he did get the best Christmas cake hero hug ever from his new friends.

So sorry, Pam! If you tried to post directly it didn’t work for some reason – I don’t see any comment from you before this one. If you emailed, I have not received an email from you – checked spam/jumk as well and don’t see anything. Yes! Please resubmit!

“What makes your Christmas cookies taste so good, Oma? Do you use a secret ingredient?”
Oma laughed. “I use nothing but what you see here in my kitchen,” Then, as if a thought had tickled her, she smiled just ever so. “Actually, Engelin, I do use a secret ingredient. You guess what it is.”
Greta looked at all the different spices and canisters in Oma’s kitchen, wondering which ingredient it could be that made the cookies ever so delicious.
The next day, after Christmas Eve dinner, Greta brought out the dessert tray. Glancing at Oma, Greta saw the happiness reflected on her grandmother’s face as she watched everyone enjoy the baked treats. Realizing then what the secret ingredient was, Greta selected a heart cookie from the dessert plate. She quietly made her way over to Oma, presenting it to her. “I know what the secret ingredient is,” she whispered.
Oma whispered back, “Is this so?”
“Mmhmm,” Greta nodded. “It doesn’t come from any of your spice jars. And I know you put it in all you do, not just cookies,” she added, giving her grandmother a measured hug of love.
“Yes, my little angel, love makes everything taste that much better.”

Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the kitchen
Mom was so flustered; I just had to pitch in.
Church potlucks, class parties, and family dinners . . .
This volume of baking was not for beginners!

Treats for teachers and neighbors and coaches and sitters . . .
The list kept on growing. It gave us the jitters!
We Googled ideas for cookies and breads,
While lists of ingredients danced in our heads.

We spoke not a word, but went straight to our work.
Things started out fine, then they just went berserk!
The counter dusted with flour like new-fallen snow;
We were getting it ready to roll out the dough.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But our KitchenAid mixer, jammed in high gear!
I looked on in horror as eggs splashed everywhere
On the floor, on the walls, and of course in my hair!

And then, in a twinkling, I thought I smelled smoke.
Oh no! Not burned cookies! This must be a joke.
It was time for the icing, confetti, and such.
Slather, squirt, sprinkle! Oops! Did I use too much?

When the last gift was packaged, Mom plopped on a chair,
Asking, “Which Christmas treat is your favorite to share?”
I said, a bit puzzled, “I thought that you knew . . .
The best treat for me is just baking with you!”

As always, thanks so much Susanna for hosting this fun contest. I’m so very sorry for whatever you’re going through right now. Sending hugs and prayers.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Ann said. “Nana’s coming and it’s the Home for the Holidays Parade.”

“I love walking down the middle of the street!” said Ann’s little brother Will. “I can only do that once a year.”

All of Main Street remained closed after the parade for everyone to walk around the shops, enjoying hot chocolate and cookies, meeting up with friends.

“I love the marching bands playing holiday songs,” said Ann’s mom.

“I love all of it,” said Ann, “the whole street sparkling with holiday lights, the music, the food… everyone is happy. I can’t wait for Nana to see it.”

But Ann woke up with a terrible sore throat. She felt even worse when Mom said she couldn’t go to Home for the Holidays.

Tears rolled down Ann’s face. “But I wanted to show Nana everything; the music and lights, drink hot chocolate…” Ann stopped. It hurt to talk.

When Nana arrived Will announced, “Ann’s sick and can’t go to the parade and walk down the middle of the street!” Mom explained everything to Nana. “I’ll stay home with Ann. We’ll have our own holiday fun,” Nana winked.

Ann fell asleep on the couch, visions of a Christmassy Main Street dancing in her head. She awoke to hot chocolate and cookies on the coffee table. Twinkling lights and holiday music filled the room. “Oh Nana thank you,” Ann’s eyes sparkled.

Cousin Connor quickly snips his dough into shapes. He checks over his shoulder then shakes some blue and white sprinkles.

Uncle Matthew mushes his dough into a giant round driedel.

“Done,” he shouts plopping it onto the cookie sheet.

Great Aunt Annette carefully flattens her dough. She cuts her cookie into a Christmas tree.

Baby Braydon bashes his dough against the table. Then he wipes a booger across his cookie.

Grandpa Morty hides behind the couch. He licks bits of green and red dough off his fingers.

I sprinkle the flour like Grandma Grace taught me. Then I roll a driedel, just like Uncle Matthew. I carefully flatten the dough then secretly sprinkle just like Cousin Connor. When I’m done, my fingertips are green and sticky just like Grandpa Morty’s.

BEEEP BEEEP! Time’s up.

When the cookies come out, Grandma Grace gasps.

The menorah has mushed with the Christmas tree. The driedel has crashed into Santa. All the cookies and holidays have smushed together.

How sweet! I love how the mix of all the yummy foods feels like such perfect childlike problem-solving, and how the kids’ favorites reflect what their mom’s must have been like a child. It feels very sweet and nostalgic! 🙂

Emma peeked out her bedroom window. The snow fell softly as her feet danced beneath her.

Tonight, is my night, she thought. After all, it is my turn, but will I find the perfect tree for Christmas? she wondered. “How will I know?”

“Is it time, Mama?”

“Yes, Emma. Dress warmly,” she answered.

Emma climbed in the back of the wagon beside her two brothers. Papa snapped the reigns. The chestnut mare trotted up the logging road.

“We’ll stop here,” said Papa.

Benjamin sprung onto the powdery snow and ran from tree to tree.

“Remember Ben, it’s Emma’s turn,” Papa said.

Mama handed them hot cider and gingerbread. Papa lit a small fire while they waited, for he knew his daughter.

Emma wandered among the firs. “This one’s scrawny,” she said. “That one’s thick. The other is short. The rest are huge.” She frowned. “Where is my tree?” She ventured deeper in. “Someone is snoring,” she whispered.

A small fawn lay curled under a tree. She startled him. “Come back,” she called, but he joined his mother who grazed nearby.

Emma sat in the warmth of where he had lain. She gazed through the frosty branches to a star above and thought of the birth of a small babe so long ago.

Hello Paul…get rhythm and rhyme…and the story line has heart and humor…that’s a winning combination in my eyes…I love how you adapted the Grinch story for Hanukkah…and Kwetch is a great character. Well done!

Cambria looked out the window and sighed. Another day closer to Christmas and still no white flakes fell from the sky.

“Da!” her baby sister cooed.

“I know, Emmy Bo Bemmy, I was hoping for snow, too.”

In fact, snow for her baby sister’s first Christmas was all she had asked Santa for this year.

Cambria’s mom appeared in the doorway, her arms full of shopping bags.
“Did I hear someone wants to build a snowman?”

“Mooom, you can’t build a snowman without snow,” Cambria told her.

“That’s what you think,” her mom sing-songed.

Now Cambria was curious. Could you build a snowman without snow?
“I’m listening…”

She watched as her mom pulled one sweet treat after another out of her shopping bags, followed by a paper.
“All it takes,” her mom said, “is a recipe.”

“One body, three balls
of marshmallow treats.
Two eyes made from
chocolate chip cookies so sweet.
A licorice smile
makes everyone happy.
Chocolate bar buttons
are nothing but snappy.
The arms, hat, and scarf
are left up to you.
Grab some sweets and get busy–
You know what to do!”

Cambria rolled up her sleeves and got to work. An hour later her masterpiece was finished. She grabbed the snowman’s Twix arms and made him face her baby sister.

“Hi, I’m Coco, and I like sticky hugs!” Cambria said in her best goofy snowman voice.

Franny’s Big Front Tooth would not move.
Not a wiggle or a jiggle. Not a shimmy or a shake.

Its pearly white neighbor jumped ship on a regular old Tuesday.
The bottom chompers both popped out with the help of an apple.
Even the other Big Front Tooth had taken the plunge last fall.
One by one, each and every tooth bit the dust.
But not Big Front Tooth.

And so Franny woke up on Christmas morning, frantically feeling with her tongue.
There it was. Big Front Tooth, parked squarely in her gums.
She plodded downstairs, wondering if Santa had given her some magical dental equipment or something.

Instead, she found a package under the tree and a note that read:
“Dear Franny,
Please enjoy my famous fruitcake. No teeth can chew it. No glass of milk can soften it.
-Tooth Fairy”

She doesn’t want her two front teeth, she wants her tooth to come out. Very funny! And then to make the fruitcake the vehicle to loosen the tooth was clever. Poor fruitcakes, ever under-appreciated. Great job.